


fortuitous, isn't it?

by mallowlady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallowlady/pseuds/mallowlady
Summary: Evie's an auror with a chip on her shoulder.She certainly didn't expect to fall in love with a convicted mass murderer.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first story I've ever posted. Be gentle plz. Also forgive me- it has been a very long time since I've written anything creatively. I want my grammar to be correct, but there's just so much I seem to have forgotten. Enjoy!

Evie Knight hated meetings. She had chosen to work in the Auror Office for the excitement. It had seemed a glamorous and dangerous job at the time, which it only occasionally was. For someone who tended to live her life impulsively, it had seemed a perfect fit.

However, ninety percent of her time was spent sitting in meetings and mapping out strategies with her coworkers before they set out to catch dark wizards. Of course, said strategies were always abandoned by the time the first curse was fired, going from an organized plan to complete and utter shit in the matter of a few seconds.

Evie just couldn’t see the point- she had always been a doer, not a planner; much to the chagrin of her friends, family, and acquaintances. How she had managed to make it this far, she didn’t know. But she had done well in school, made it through training, and managed to keep an apartment clean (enough). That being said, she wasn’t at her flat often enough for it to _get_ dirty.

Evie looked up from her drawing of ice cream cones on her parchment. Scrimgeour was still talking, so she went back to her doodling. She felt a pair of eyes boring into her. She glanced up, making eye contact with Dawlish. He was staring rather disapprovingly at her drawings...or was it her pen?

Several of her more uptight coworkers, including Dawlish, had commented on her outright refusal to use feather quills. She usually told them to shove their proverbial quills up their proverbial arses, or something of the sort.

Dawlish in particular had it out for her from the moment she was hired, and complained about her behavior as often as he could. _Git_. She glared at his pinched, pale face and sent a silent stinging hex his way from under the table, causing him to jump quite violently and immediately look away. Tonks snorted, then lapsed into coughing fit to conceal her giggles.

Scrimgeour either didn’t notice the minor interruption or didn’t care. Enjoyed the sound of his own voice too much, that one.

“You see, it’s important that we stick to the plan this time. Tonks will cover the front of the house, Kingsley will take the back. Should be fairly routine, I imagine they’ll be subdued easily. They’re dragon smugglers, nothing indicates they're more dangerous than normal.”

Tonks, whose eyes had been glazed through the entirety of the meeting, jumped at the sound of her name. “Yeah...er- right. The front..I’ll be there.”

Evie propped her combat-booted feet up on the table and leaned back in her chair. Dawlish looked postively scandalized. Scrimgeour frowned at her lack of decorum but didn’t say anything. Evie and Tonks were brought on 7 years ago as part of a concerted effort by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to “bring in more young people.”

They passed their tests with flying colors, but she still had a feeling that Rufus didn’t approve of the way they styled themselves. Evie usually wore some combination of combat boots, knee socks, and loose mini dresses to work. Sometimes plaid flannel shirts. Was it professional? Certainly not.

However, they were allowed to dress as they liked in the Auror Office. No one at the Ministry knew much about muggle clothes, so no one ever commented, but people certainly stared.

Along with her several visible tattoos, it also didn’t help that Evie was undeniably feminine-looking. Her body was small in stature, tiny even.

As a result, many people, both men and women alike tended to not take her seriously at first. It had taken a lot of hard work to prove herself to Scrimgeour and her coworkers, along with several well-aimed jinxes, but they had all seen it in the end. She was a skilled witch.

Her rather surly disposition had even won her the respect of Mad-Eye Moody, the grumpiest man alive. The only exception at this point was Dawlish, who had once called her “an evil shrew." It had been one of the proudest days of her life. 

Tonks had even had a small trophy made for her desk the day after the incident, golden and emblazoned with the words: _Evie Knight, Evil Shrew_. Tonks, with her bubblegum pink hair and relaxed attitude had dealt with the same problems when she was brought on. She understood. 

* * *

Rufus broke through her reverie, likely realizing that everyone had stopped paying attention close to an hour ago. He began stacking papers and gathering quills.

“Well, that should do it. Tonks, Shacklebolt, be in position within the hour. Miss Knight, may I speak with you in private?”

Evie wasn’t surprised. Dawlish levied complaints about her at least once a week and she’d just hexed him during a work meeting, albeit discreetly. She made brief eye contact with Tonks, rolling her eyes as she followed him into his office. He walked over to his desk and sat down. She noticed immediately that he wasn’t making eye contact with her.

“Miss Knight. Have a seat, and shut the door.” Evie waved her wand and the door clicked. Might as well get straight to it.

“Sir- if this is about Dawlish’s tea I never even touched the stuff! He’s just trying to get me fired as usual,” Evie huffed.

She flung herself into a chair dramatically. Scrimgeour raised his tawny eyebrows at her.

She swore she could see the corners of his mouth twitch up for a moment before his face went back to his mask of resolute sternness. “No, Miss Knight. I hadn’t heard about that one. What happened?”

Evie scowled, “ _Someone_ turned it into bat dung and for once it wasn’t me.” Rufus wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That sounds er... _unpleasant_. But that’s not why you’re here.”

It was Evie’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Scrimgeour looked rather sheepish for a moment. “Well, you’re on desk duty for the rest of the month.”

Evie snorted incredulously, “I thought you said this had nothing to do with Dawlish and his tea! Why am I being punished? You _know_ I’m one of the best in the field. I’m not _suited_ for desk duty.”

Scrimgeour still looked uncomfortable, but a little relieved that she hadn’t shouted at him. “It’s not. I know you’re good in the field. But- I want you to use your rather keen powers of observation to review some old cases for me. I don’t have the time.”

She crossed her arms, not looking at him. “Then why does it feel like I’m being punished? _Sir_.”

He grumbled for a moment before speaking, “Oh, alright. Your father published a new article yesterday. Dolores Umbridge isn’t pleased. Thinks it shows a lack of loyalty on your part. She wants you to take some time away from fieldwork to uh- _prove_ yourself to the Ministry.”

White hot rage coursed through Evie’s veins. She took a deep breath to compose herself before speaking again. She did so purposefully and slowly, as if she were speaking to a child. I will not shout at my boss. “Sir. I haven’t spoken to my father since I was about 5. You know this. I already went through the veritaserum interrogation when I was hired on. No one else had to! That was insulting enough. Now _this_?”

He waved his freckled hand in the air, his nose slightly wrinkled, as if he were brushing away an irksome fly, “I’m aware, you should’ve never had to go through that. Dolores can be quite...ridiculous about these things. It will pass.”

She didn’t necessarily _like_ Scrimgeour. She was grateful for his respect and admired his shrewdness. However, she was also aware that he was purely a political animal. He was going to do anything and everything to come out on top. Including placating foul people like bigoted Dolores Umbridge and the idiot-in-chief himself, Cornelius Fudge. It seemed likely that You-Know-Who _was_ back, and Rufus knew it. Hell, most people knew it. But you didn’t become Minister of Magic someday by standing up to Fudge. Or making any noise at all it seemed, even on behalf of an employee.

“Glad to see you stuck your neck out for me, Rufus,” she spat sarcastically, “It shouldn’t matter whether my father and I still speak anyway. It’s not his fault he’s a werewolf. He just _happens_ to be a terrible father.”

Rufus made a noncommittal sound. Perhaps he was fighting the urge to yell at her, but she knew he never would. He’d faced down plenty of dark wizards during his time but always seemed remarkably frightened of her wrath. She supposed his being on the receiving end of Dawlish and his complaints against her had made him very aware that she didn’t suffer fools lightly. Or perhaps he just liked her.

They sat in silence for a moment. He fiddled around with items on his desk as she watched some unread memos zoom around the room.

She finally asked the question she’d been dying to know the answer to, “Incidentally, what was the paper he published his article in? We both know the Prophet wouldn’t publish anything he writes these days.”

His green eyes met her blue ones, “The Quibbler. It was an impassioned plea for werewolf rights, much like the one he wrote all those years ago. Before—” She quickly cut him off. “I’m damn well aware of what happened the first time, Rufus. He’s my father. I was there for it.”

She stood up rather quickly, accidentally knocking a stack of parchment off of his desk in her haste. She didn’t bend to pick it up. She’d leave that for him to do.

He gave her a nod. “Files should be on your desk. I made sure they were diverting. You’ll be going through Barty Crouch’s old cases, and he only dealt with the ah— heavy hitters. No one told me I couldn’t make your desk duty interesting.”

She couldn’t help it. Even through her anger, her interest was piqued. “Sir... _why_?”

His tawny eyebrows looked bushier than ever as he furrowed his brow, “Barty bent the rules during his time. It was war, but— well he put people away with no trial. That’s illegal. There’s been a lot of innocence groups putting pressure on our department lately in lieu of his death.

“Many of them were nasty people, death eaters and the like. But there’s a chance some of them weren’t. We’ve re-opened all of them. Thought you’d be the one to find something, if no one else.”

She nodded curtly. “I want to work from home then. Let me take the files home. I’ll be more useful there than in the office.”

He waved his hand distractedly as she turned to leave, “Yes, yes, take them home then.”

She let out a deep shuddering breath as she closed the door behind her.

Well, that wasn’t how she’d been expecting things to go. Little did she know, things were going to get _much, much_ stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I acknowledge that everything and everyone in the Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling.   
> However, I do not condone her gross and repulsive views on the trans community.   
> Trans women are women and trans men are men.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one. Sorry!

“He put you on desk duty? If it’s about the tea, it was _me_. _I_ turned it to bat dung. Thought it’d be a laugh. Oh! I’m so sorry Evie,” Tonks covered her rather earnest face with her hands. 

Evie nodded and knocked back another shot of firewhiskey. "S'fine, _really_.'

They were sitting together at the Leaky Cauldron after work, which was a regular occurrence for them. At least the drinking was, not the location. They both preferred muggle pubs and venues to their wizarding counterparts, where they were much more likely to run into other Ministry employees.

Evie blearily stared into her glass before fully answering. “Desk duty, though. Rufie sold me out to Umbridge, the old cow. Can't believe he'd do that.”

Her face felt hot and she was a little drunk. She’d been there since her meeting several hours ago. A large pile of files sat in her bag that needed inspection, but now was the time for drinking. She would start the boring job tomorrow. 

Tonks seemed rather engrossed by this fact. “Why does Umbridge want you on desk duty, Evie?”

Evie gazed at her with a slightly unfocused look before answering, “I expect it’s because dear-old-dad published a werewolf rights article in the Quibbler yesterday. I don’t know what Fudge is playing at, the _bastard._ Making everyone pretend You-Know-Who isn’t back while they trample on the rights of,” she motioned around the bar, “ _everyone_.”

Tonks looked rather surprised by her proclamation, albeit pleased. “ _Blimey_ , Evie. Your father? It’s been _at least_ ten years, right?”

Evie wrinkled her nose, “Yeah, yeah. He’s a hell of a writer _and_ champion for the rights of the downtrodden. That’s not what I take issue with. He was a bloody awful father.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes for a moment before speaking, as if she were weighing her next words very carefully. “What if I told you there was a way for you to fight back against Umbridge? Without her knowing? Fudge too, the twat.”

Beneath her alcohol-fueled haze, Evie felt her interest pique. “ _Go on_. Does it involve transfiguring her into a steak and feeding her to a lion?”

Tonks drained her glass. “Not exactly. Just a group I may or may not be involved in. If you’re interested I can talk to some of the other members. Bring you in. See what you think.”

She really didn’t have anything to lose at this point. The way things were going, the Ministry was headed for a serious reckoning and they would deserve every bit of it. She was no stranger to political activism. Her father had been a _famous_ and _popular_ progressive wizard, after all. While she wasn't sure exactly how serious she actually was about joining any groups (particularly secret, unnamed ones that she knew nothing about), it wasn't as if she had anything else interesting going on in her life

Evie nodded, “Yeah, alright. I’ll join your anti-government group. Is it like wizard Antifa?'

Tonks shrugged. “I have no idea what Antifa is, but sure. Think of it however you want. Listen, I’ve got to get going. Expect to hear from me soon, love. I'll miss you at work tomorrow."

She nodded, hugged her friend goodbye rather morosely, and ordered another shot. She surveyed her surroundings with wobbly vision, considering the other bar patrons. None of them seemed remotely shaggable, but it _was_ the Leaky Cauldron. Not exactly a spot that was popular with attractive young people.

She grimaced at a middle-aged and sweaty Ministry wizard leering at her from across the bar. He began scooting closer. _Nope. Time to go._

"See something you like, love? You're a tiny thing, I'll keep ya warm,' he practically shouted at her, despite being no more than 6 feet away.

She grabbed her bag and slammed several galleons down onto the bar, thanked Tom, and made her through the heavy wooden doors as quickly as her feet would carry her. 

* * *

Evie's head was pounding. Even after a hangover potion, latte from her neighborhood coffee shop, several glasses of water, and a morning cigarette. She was certainly no novice to drinking, but even she had to admit that spending nearly five hours stress-drinking firewhiskey on an empty stomach had nearly defeated her. 

How she had managed to apparate to her flat with no issues she didn't know. She had apparently stopped for chips at some point, judging from the occasional bits of potato leading from her front door to her bed.

She propped a pillow up on her headboard, creating a makeshift chair. If not leaving bed today was an option, she'd take it. She pulled her softest blanket over her legs and pulled the massive stack of files from her bag and settled them next to her.

From the size of this stack, Barty Crouch must have been quite _prolific_ in his self-appointed duties. She'd never met the man, but what she'd heard put a bitter taste in her mouth. No one in government should ever have that much power. 

Grabbing a pack of cigarettes from her side table, she pulled one out and sparked it, exhaling a thin stream of smoke through her lips. She pulled the first file from the top of the stack, opened it, and began reading. 


	3. Chapter 3

From the way Barty Crouch typed up his reports, she could tell that he was a finicky and obsessive old git. Despite his obvious delusions of grandeur, he _had_ been an effective force when it came to sending death eaters to Azkaban. 

Different times, she supposed. She found it awfully rich that he had smuggled his own very guilty son away from the prison while he himself had played the part of judge, jury, and executioner for everyone else involved in the whole awful mess. The consequences of said actions were still playing out; if the Ministry ever even bothered to acknowledge them. 

The powerful people of the wizarding world simply played by different rules. 

Evie stretched her arms above her head and yawned loudly. She’d been at it for so long that her vision was starting to swim. At least the hangover induced headache had dissipated.

The sunlight, which it seemed had been streaming into her bedroom only moments ago had long ago faded into twilight.

She glanced down at the ear-worn file currently in her lap: The Lestrange/Longbottom case. It was a difficult case to even read about. The details were truly nauseating- the Longbottoms tortured for days until they went mad, the Lestranges unapologetic and boastful about what they had done.

She glanced down at the photograph of the convicted death eaters. As she stared into the heavy-lidded, slightly mad eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange, a strange shiver traveled down her spine.

She quickly shut the worn file and moved it into the discard pile. 

Glaring at the file before speaking aloud, her voice pierced the quiet room like a knife. “That’s _quite_ enough of that. I already _know_ you’re guilty, Bella.”

One last file before she’d call it a night. Her eyelids were starting to grow heavy. Midnight had probably come and gone, although admittedly she was unsure of the time. 

This one, unlike the last was thick and heavy, positively filled to the brim with pages and photographs. As she opened it, she found herself staring into the eyes of notorious mass murderer Sirius Black.

She snorted out loud. Rufus wanted her to look at _his case_? He had to be joking! Judging from the weight of the file alone, the thing was bursting to the brim with eyewitness accounts. Everyone knew the story- it had been plastered on the front page of every major wizarding newspaper for weeks. 

She sighed and waved her wand. _Might as well read this one with a drink, hangover be damned._  
A glass of whiskey whizzed into the room and she grabbed it, taking a hearty swig.

She glanced back down at the photograph of Black and he blinked back at her slowly. He had heavy bags under his eyes and looked a little thin, an expression of misery painting his rather handsome face. Wait- _handsome?_ She shook her head, trying to dispel the intrusive thought. 

* * *

“You need to get laid, Evie. It’s clearly been too long,” she murmured to herself. She forced herself to start reading and immediately found herself quite engrossed. The story played out almost like a Greek tragedy- best friends who were like brothers, an angry villain, followed by betrayal, death, and heartbroken friends and family. In the background, a chorus of witnesses to tell the tale. 

Oh, the witnesses. There was a plethora of witnesses- rather amusing muggle accounts of his attack on Peter Pettigrew (lots of _bomb_ talk) and equally inaccurate versions told by wizards.

It seemed an open and shut case. No way around it. However, something was keeping her from throwing this file on the discard pile. That something seemed _wrong_ and she couldn't place it. She began rifling through the pages, feeling a bit mad as she did so. 

She found herself back at the interview with Pettigrew's mother. It had to be here somewhere, the niggling feeling in the back of her brain was telling her it was here. The whole account had been rather horrible- lots of breaks between questions.

Clearly the interviewers had to stop several times due to her uncontrollable sobbing. She appreciated the accuracy at the very least. The quill had been charmed to take everything down, from breaks and pauses to exact wording. _Can't say they weren't thorough_. Her eyes quickly scanned the page until she found it.

_"....my Peter. He'd been ever so nervous, taken to spending all 'is time alone in his room. H-he was'n eating and he'd been wearin' those long sleeve shirts 'n spite of all that heat...oh my sweet boy..."_

She wasn't sure why she found it strange. Clearly a person who was worried about the safety of his friends would be stressed enough to skip meals. It would only have been exacerbated after learning about their deaths.

For some reason, the long sleeves bothered her. In several of the witness accounts, there had been mention of the uncommonly hot weather. It had been warm enough that several people had taken note of the October heat wave, it wasn't ordinary for the time of year. Yet Pettigrew had taken to wearing shirts and sweaters that had long sleeves.

Paired with his self-induced isolation, it almost felt like he'd had something to hide. Plenty of close friends, plenty of people to talk to and he hadn't. She sighed. _Strange._

Evie supposed it didn't matter. The man was dead, his mother long gone, and his friend group dispersed. It wasn't as if she could ask _him_ anything about it. She closed the file and levitated the pile from her bed to the disorganized antique desk in the corner of her bedroom.

Curling up under her warm duvet, the image of Sirius Black danced behind her eyes and faded to blackness as she promptly fell asleep. 

* * *

She woke the next morning with a start to the sound of someone knocking on her door. No loud bangs, just insistent but rather polite raps. It was probably Tonks.

She stumbled slightly as she rose, grumbling to herself as she shuffled down the hallway to her door. "I'm comiiin' jus' please stop knockin," she moaned as she opened the door, "I swear Tonks, you know better than to- _oh_."

For it wasn't Tonks at the door. Instead, she found herself staring into the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

She looked down at her sleep clothes, embarrassed. Wearing nothing but a pair of knickers and a _Clash_ t-shirt was perfectly fine when greeting a close friend, but decidedly _not_ when meeting with a former headmaster.

He beamed at her, showing no sign of discomfort, for which she was grateful. "Miss Knight! It's wonderful to see you. I was wondering if we might have a chat?"

Evie blurted out the first thought that came to mind. The man made her nervous and always had, famous and accomplished wizard that he was."Is this about that exploded toilet on the third floor? Because it er- wasn't me..sir."

His eyes twinkled, "Oh! I had forgotten about that little incident in- what was it? Your sixth year? I daresay I'm not here for that, although I am grateful you reminded me."

She furrowed her brow, truly having no idea why he was at her door at eight in the morning. "Um- why are you here? Sir.."

He nodded his head patiently, "I am _sure_ you must have plenty of questions Miss Knight. I recently spoke to your friend Nymphadora Tonks. She made me aware that you are interested in joining a certain group she's a member of. I would loveto discuss details with you and explain, but I _do_ think we'd both be more comfortable in your sitting room."

 _Oh. That._ She gulped and stepped aside, silently gesturing towards her sitting room. It seemed they had a lot to discuss.

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve taken some liberties involving the weather- I just really liked the idea of her reading through the case file and finding details.


End file.
